Extraordinary number of fraulent orders hit the Brain Jar Press store over the weekend, transforming our usual trickle of notifications into a mighty torrent as I was notified by payment failure after payment failure. On the plus side, our filters caught all the bogus orders as they were sent through and didn’t process them, which means I don’t have to spend my day refunding 400+ orders and talking to our payment provider about each one. On the downside, my email and the order system is a disaster zone that will need a few hours to clean up.
Meanwhile, there are definite signs I need to reset my desk, especially given the number of books stacking up on the side table because I referenced them while working.
This week’s Saturday Morning Story on Patreon was It’s Not A Job, a short tale about Chosen Ones, Monsters, and the Late Stage Capitalism that may also be a metaphor for art if you squint and look at the story sideways. Currently slated to appear in the September issue of Eclectic Projects, so Patreon backers get a really early look in addition to new issues as the magazine comes out.
Here’s a sample:
So it’s a Thursday and the three of us, me and Wiki and Cady, we’re up on the roof smoking cigarettes before we go clean the twenty-third floor. Our manager would ream our asses if she knew, pitch a fit over the maid service showing up stinking like an ashtray, but Cady wanted a cigarette and she’s got this way about her. She’ll get jack of working and just declare a smoke break, and somehow Wiki and me, we end up on the roof and start bumming smokes even though we say we’ve quit. The three of us, together, wasting time in the shadow of the Hotel sign they’ve bolted up there, on the edge. The big one, each letter sixteen feet high and luminous in the dark.
So we’re smoking when the storm rolls in, these dark, heavy clouds that boil and curl like ink poured into water. Weather that shifts the mood from “what a nice day” to “dear lord, forgive us our trespasses” in the space of a shared cigarette and the short exposition of Wiki’s bullshit theories ‘bout how the Raiders will do this season.
Cady eyes the clouds with suspicion. “Where the hell did those came from?”
“Warm, damp air rising fast and releasing latent heat as they condense,” Wiki says. “You know, like any other cloud.”
“Brain that size, and you still rock the mullet.” Cady finishes her cigarette and flicks it into the tin we keep up there to store her butts. “Some days, you worry me, big man.”
Me, I’m staring at the clouds while they bicker, trying to scratch the itchy tingle out of my arm and ignore the little voice in the back of my head screaming yo, yo, yo, man, there’s something hella wrong here. Trying to convince myself that sometimes a cloud is just a cloud, and the biggest risk the storm represents is the possibility of being soaked.
Cady is still giving Wiki grief when I finally give in and say, “Guys? Hey guys, yo. I don’t think this is just weather, you know?”
Read It’s Not A Job on Patreon
Two mentorship meetings to deliver today, plus one more mentee I need to onboard after the email chain ground to a halt while I was sick. I also need to do some prep for the impending recording of next month’s Pratchat and make sure I’ve got my ideas and talking points clear. Also preparing for the launch of Ecletic Projects 002 tomorrow, making time for housework, and getting some writing done. If I don’t clear inboxes of the crushing weight of failed orders I’ll be a grumpy shit for the rest of the week.
Definitely more on the to-do list than I’ve got brains to manage. It’s going to be a messy day.
I’ve ended up taking a short, unscheduled break from writing newsletters over the last fourteen days. Regular GenrePunk Ninja transmissions will resume
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